Retiree Poem by Zoran Bogdanovic

Every day
he walks through the park
in a gray raincoat,
with a hat on his head
and a silk scarf
around his neck.
He is still not
in a need of a cane.
He would sit on a bench,
go through a newspaper,
feed pigeons, or simply
look into the distance,
somewhere, long ago.
Some sporadic event
would bring him
back to reality -
women with
their hands full
returning from the market,
or when a ball
which children play with
falls near him
and he kicks it back.
Sometimes
a couple of lovers
would catch his attention;
his face would soften,
his gaze would follow them
and wonder afar.